ОДИН
by Just Another Indonesian Writer
Summary: "ОДИН", was the word printed on his uniform's collar. Odin. One, sole, single, the first... 'Alone'. Speaking of which, what could you do if you're all by yourself, just counting days with no purpose whatsoever? How will you pass those countless, sleepless nights? How will you... die?
1. Night One

How long has time passed since the beginning of this stupid war?

A year? Two years? Five years? Ten, maybe?

In the end. It didn't matter. For it was the end for all of us anyway.

He was standing alone at the middle of the night. The calm winds that touched his face made him shiver in cold, but that was nothing compared to his earlier posts in the Eastern front. The Gods have attacked, and the humans at El-Gaia were losing, badly. He knew that it was a suicide mission, yet he carried it for the name of his empire, anyway. As his brothers, comrades, friends... family, lie dead at the barren, desolate ground around him, he just kept his face stoic. His flat expression dull and unchanging. It was the end for him. Bariura has fallen. All of the available options were already lain wasted. The Emperor is dead, and the rest of the royal family was scattered at the chaos. Every single soldier, from recruit to the kingdom's finest were either slain or forced to evacuate along with the civilians of the empire. And even then he could not shake off the feeling that the survivors would only meet their own dead end. He only hoped that the Gods were forgiving enough to give them a quick death. No one wanted a painful way to end. No one wanted to go out. No one wanted this.

The soldier was a mere man. But a mere man could also have the power of the Gods. Why? We could create life, we could birth anew. Yet we could also undo everything the Gods that have given to us. We could take one's life without consent. And at times like these. It seems that every single one of them, let it be young or old, adult or children, male or female, healthy or sick, perfect or disabled, could finally have their own chance to play God.

Bariura was once a proud empire. Ah yes. The Bariuran Federation, was indeed once a proud empire. Nations trembled before the military and industrial might of the continent. Its radical political pact had made the surrounding islands cower in fear. Countries, kingdoms, and empires of all sorts flocked to them to form an alliance, worrying over the fact that the communist empire may just attack them with their overwhelming forces. They've had everything. Good people, good country, good life, good technology.

But not anymore.

The very pinnacle of all El-Gaia's symbol of power and prosperity has fallen. Those who were left behind to defend their country was just a more... honorable statement, it really means that the soldiers who couldn't get themselves sat at the final ship out from the continent were really left for dead. Some volunteered to do this, thinking that their valiant hearts were enough to stop the advance of Gods' forces. They were wrong. They didn't even manage to slow their advance. They were just wiped out. With nothing left to salvage from their remains. Just... gone.

As expected from an already dead continent, the supplies that had been purposely left behind quickly dwindled. With enemies just right around the corner, and with nothing to fed on. It quickly led the rest of the troops into starvation. Mix starvation and the natural sense of paranoia, it was a perfect mix for despair to take over the rest of the forces within Bariura's border. Murders and even cannibalism had been reported on multiple fortresses shortly before the posts downfall.

And then, we come back to this... soldier. This... man. One could clearly see his seriously unhealthy condition. His skin was pale. Much more paler than any normal human being. His fat has been drained, leaving his scrawny and bones were already starting to appear from underneath his skin. His malnutritioned and dehydrated body was already taking the toll on his own breathing. He was hungry. He was thirsty. He was sick, and he was desperate. Yet he couldn't let his mouth and his insane desire to just taste the flesh of his own countrymen, let alone... dead ones.

But yet, he stood at the ready. Facing the cold, night winds with his tattered clothes and battered, and bruised body. A rifle was all that he got. And a rifle is what he needed. He could just end it quickly. Just aim it to your head and one quick pull of the trigger, you'll be off the Eternal Gardens of the Vortex. It was as quick as that. But... he just could not bring his hands to do that. The fighting spirit remained. Lucius knows how long that he had been in that condition, but suicide wasn't the option. Death before dishonor, if his oriental comrades would always say.

Looking down to his rifle, he pulled the attached magazine from the port and proceeded to examine the casing with his empty eyes. Golden bullets were still present inside it. Smiling to one in some self-pitying satisfaction, he pushed the black box back into the empty magazine port and his thumb finger pressed the bolt release of the weapon. Flicking the safety off, the sudden temptation of suicide once again filling his mind, the soldier urged the desire to end his life back down. He would need to be strong.

But at these times, who aren't?

He sighed. Letting his lifeless eyes to trail away from the weapon and to the pitch black scenery before him. Only the sounds of night crickets filled his ears with some eternal melody of them, chirping. Those chirps were his only friend. The winds were being hostile to him, as the cumulonimbus at the high skies above blocked any light from the stars. And from the looks of it... it was going to rain soon. An even colder night for him.

The fortress walls were pretty kind to him to let him break out some wood from the main structure to create a makeshift fire. At least the warmth would do him some good. And with luck, the heat alone could get him through another night. The only blanket that he could provide himself was merely a piece of cloth from the armory, used to cover the unused weapons. But his late comrades would let him do it, right? It's not like they'll need it anymore.

Once again, he just sighed as his eyes now tracked the first drips of rain began to fall down and fill the land with water. If Lady Fortuna was kind enough to lend him some water supplies, that would be the right time. The soldier forced his sore legs back to the armory to pull out a few buckets. He set them down beside the campfire, whereas the area was not covered by a solid roof. Then he plopped himself down to sit near the warmth of the flames at the fortress's guard tower. Closing his eyes, he prayed to anything that he could still believe on out there that the Gods would not attack his last home. Or something that could potentially make his life worse than it is.

There was nothing left on him to believe on, but at least it wouldn't hurt to have some hope.

Opening his eyes back, he continued to watch over the landscape for another sleepless night.

It was still going to be a long night.

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><p><strong>ALONE: Another Life On aN Endless night<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>NIGHT ONE<strong>


	2. Night Two

The water was bad.

But at least that's some liquid entering your body.

Finishing the last whole bucket that's a day or two's worth of rain water, the soldier tossed the metal container aside and groaned. His throat wasn't making any voice anymore. Too damaged, too sore. The stale rain wasn't doing its job to at least fix the problem. Heck, it might even worsen it. After getting nourished by the slightly sour rain, the soldier lifted his body to break off another part from the fortress's furnishings. The fire would need to be fed with more wood in order to keep burning.

From the guard tower, he walked. Witnessing the view of the destruction all around him. The weather was clear for the night, letting the stars from all across the nebula to at least fill the serenity of the twilight. Rotting carcasses of both humans and animals were littered around the walls, dying while trying to seek refuge within the fortress. The crows and vultures that were circling around the skies let out a sharp caw, as if asserting their dominance to feast upon the dead, while not knowing that the maggots on the ground were already enjoying their prize. It pained him. By Gods, it pained him to see this. Deep inside, and he was sure that everyone, when they were alive, that is, felt it too, they wanted to take them in. No one wanted to leave them to be slaughtered. But circumstances forced them to do it. Without food, water, medicine, or anything that could at least be counted to make a proper living condition, taking in more lives equals the death of all.

From the dead bodies, his eyes darted to the rest of the war-torn land around the fort. Rozsocháčs and chevaux de friseswere dumped all around, reinforcing the fortress's line of defense by making a straight, horizontal formation in a vain attempt to slow the Forces of the Gods' advance. Packed sandbags along with some barbed wires were still standing, as sturdy as they were even before the attacks began. The Phalanx Line somehow still stood with its head held high, even with all of the carnage all around them. Cannons and machine gun emplacements were aligned, both on the fortress walls and on the ground. Craters of all sizes, from tiny, to even meteor-sized, ravaged the once beautiful countryside. Now, only smoke and rock matters remained, and they became the silent judge for all that has happened to the land.

Approaching the fort's armory, the soldier placed his left hand upon the door and gave it a light push. The rusty hinges of the wooden door creaked loudly, smashing the silence of the night. He peeked his head into the the large storehouse. Treading carefully with each step into the darkness of the room, he figured that a bit of light won't hurt. And so, he flicked the nearest light switch on. There was a soft click from the power generator before it began to produce electricity to flow into the room. The fortress was lucky enough to have its generator up and running, although the soldier himself knew better to not overuse it. Fuel was getting scarce, and it's not like he could or would venture out of the walls to the outside alone. For him, looting was... unethical. The deceased should be respected, not robbed. Sure he'd looted from the armory, but looting dead bodies... it's a different story.

To say the least, it was a sad sight to see.

The light bulb that was hanging at the center of the room flickered a spark when the power came in contact with its receiving end. A few seconds in, and the room was then lit by a dim light that was produced by the bulb. The armory of the fort was really more of a storage rather than a place where you store your weapons. He searched for a soft spot where he could tear out a few pieces of wood from. Even if the armory itself was in a rundown state, the weapons inside it were still... somehow... well-kept. Armaments of all sorts, from short daggers, to spell tomes, to normal firearms, and to even gigantic scythes and handheld cannons were seen lying all around the room.

One does not need to be keen enough to be able to hear the soft banging sounds at that night. they were small, yet loud enough to produce an echo that spread throughout the vicinity. The soldier bumped the butt of his rifle repeatedly on a cracked wall. The weathered walls have weakened enough for him to break with his bare hands. Behind the hardened structure, lies some inner planks, that were not really trying their best to keep the walls standing. With a heave, the rifleman used both of his scarred, thick-skinned hand to pull in the supporting wooden beams in an attempt to bring them out from the small hole that he'd produced. Grunting to give himself a mental push, the soldier pulled hard.

And then, a snap was heard.

With a good chunk of wood in his hands, that still could be broken down for more firewood, the rifleman's dry lips formed a satisfied smirk. With a wood that big, at least it would be enough for him to light up the fire for a few more days. Scouring the storage for any other supplies he could use, he only found some more weapons and equipment at the unexplored corner, with most of them already unusable due to corrosion and rusting. Thinking for a while, he decided that it was for the best to leave the place be for now.

Or so he thought.

Because, when he was just about to exit the room, there was a blink of light, and that blink was something that could potentially pull him out from the hell hole he was trapped in. The light was small, nearly dying, but it was colored in green. Putting the wood aside, the young man jogged to the source of the blinking light and began to rummage through the ruins and debris that stood in his path. After a full minute of pulling out rocks and sharp woods, he finally pulled out a telephone-like device, with a tall antennae sticking out on its upper part from the ground. The receiver light still blinking in green.

A radio. And there was a clear signal.

As the most advanced empire of its time, Bariura had managed to invent a device that could be used to entangle communication waves sent from other devices similar to it. The radio could be used to transmit real-time communications through distant places. Although not mass produced yet, it was the only thing that he could rely on for the night. Taking the radio and the wood outside with him and back to the guardhouse, he couldn't help but wonder how he could get a signal. He shrugged to himself, and guessed that it happened because of the clear weather.

The orange flames grew slightly bigger when it received a small piece of wood from the soldier.

Sighing contently at the heat that got radiated into his cold body, he set himself down and pulled the radio out. He tuned the frequency so he would be listening to all active channels. With a slight feeling of euphoria and the flames of hope burning back to life inside him, he turned the communication device on. For a couple of minutes, however, all that he received back from the radio was just static. Nothing ever came back to answer to the recently activated radio.

He tried to re-tune the frequency to a better channel, only to get the same results.

He had hoped too much.

But maybe... just maybe... morse code could work. Ever since the invention of instant long range communications, people have begun to create a new universal 'language' that could be used in a case of an emergency. Morse code was that language. It's either compromised by light signals, elongated tones or either with tapping noises. Still feeling a bit skeptical, he sat down on the guard tower's floor. Gave another silent prayer, and began tapping. Three quick taps, followed by three taps with longer pauses, and then three more quickened taps.

_. . . - - - . . ._

_S.O.S._

_Save Our Souls._

This time, however, he wasn't going to hope too much. But yet, he kept on repeating the taps on the floor for every few seconds beside the radio.

The night turned out to be longer than anyone could have hoped for.

And it's a sin.

* * *

><p><strong>ALONE: Another Life On aN Endless night<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>NIGHT TWO<strong>


	3. Night Five 10:37 PM

_S.O.S._

_S.O.S._

_S.O.S._

The same message just kept on repeating itself for the past few days, of course, with no response coming from the other end. The light of hope that remained within his body diminished to almost nothing as the usual despair took over. The fire was growing weaker, and his supply of water was already empty. The fact that the radio still worked alone was nothing short of a miracle. Yet, at that state, he thought that hoping would just be leading him down to a road filled with disappointment. He wasn't going to give up, no. But he wasn't going to getting his hopes up anymore. The more you believe in something, sometimes, the harder you hit the ground when you know the truth.

Looking back to the cloudy skies, he guessed that it would rain again, and this time, it was going to big. Placing the radio down for once, he picked up the metal buckets to get himself prepared for another few days worth supply of supposedly undrinkable water. Bariura was an industrial empire. Factories of all sorts were built to propel the Federation's economy, but that also made the environment's conditions to deteriorate at an alarming speed. Presence of acid was already confirmed by the kingdom's scientist, making the rainwater to be lethal, even if it's just by a percent or so.

Setting the last bucket up, he got himself back into the guard tower to shelter him from the oncoming storm. He could already hear the distant thunder, clapping beyond the dark horizon. The cold twilight wind blew even harder that night. So hard, that he feared that it might blow the fire out. He rested his rifle on the floor and sighed. It was still too early to rain. Of course, he knew that he couldn't blame it all on his luck. He was sitting at the tropical part of the land, after all.

His mind wondered to the rest of his countrymen. If they're still alive, most of them would be fighting at the near Western Front, where they would defend Bariura's only coastline with their lives, trying to prevent the Gods to breach them and ultimately, breaking loose to the rest of the surrounding islands. He then thought that if he were to go there, he would probably have a better chance of survival, since the sea is close and all... and one could easily create a raft from a tree, or what not, not in this... stuck up, south-western part of the continent.

But he also realized the fact that the Gods' push would be at their fiercest at the West, since it was the only known path out from the country and into the rest of El-Gaia. Snapping his mind to get back on the right track, he mentally slapped himself for letting his desires let his thoughts to go astray. He would need to keep his sanity in check if he wanted to live... or at least, die painlessly. So then he just watched as the weather finally took their turn for the worst.

Drops of rain began to pour down from the thick cloud layers, giving the desolate land some taste of acid-filled water. Thunder clashed against one another, before they struck the ground hard. Flashes after flashes as well as thunderous claps after thunderous claps, mighty lightnings made the skies their dance floor as they continued to pound the earth below with their colorful strikes. The wind picked up their speed. From just a breeze to a violent tornado, the storm continued to master the night's weather.

As the rain continued it downpour, visibility of the surroundings were reduced to nearly zero. The winds were so strong, one could actually see them taking the rain with them to the direction they blew upon. But that didn't stop him to keep watch from the guard tower. His vigilant and trained eyes kept scouting the land surrounding him for anything that's out of the ordinary. The piercingly cold and numbing rain water that entered through the holes of the guard tower didn't put him down. He'd faced the harsh winters of the Tundra parts of Bariura. Just a simple storm wouldn't stop him from carrying his duties.

Seeing enough of the area, he was about to get back and have some more tapping sessions with the radio, when a flash of red stopped him from doing so.

And it wasn't a simple red, it was more like crimson.

Squinting his eyes hard, he tried to make out what's in the distance, but with the weather, it was nigh impossible for him to exactly make out what's there. Whatever it is, it was certainly uncommon. Maybe it never happened before. Sure, he'd seen some more disturbing things like visions of ghosts or what not, but that was just his mind playing tricks on him. This time, he was fairly certain that it was an object that'd flashed him the strikingly bright red colors.

Making sure that he wasn't being delusional, and double-checking by slapping himself, physically, twice, he continued to stare down on the object with a scowl that colored suspicion upon it. As he continued to examine the object, he also realized that the 'object' continued to close in the distance between it and the fortress gates. Suspicions turned into pure surprise, and with a slight sense of alarm, he unconsciously reached for his rifle on the floor and wrapped his fingers around the weapon in case for self-defense.

Was it the Gods? No. They would always attack in force. As 'holy' and 'almighty' as they were, they were just a bunch of cowards, letting their summoned Angels and Demons to do carry their plans out, while they, themselves could just sit in their own realm, enjoying the view of the slaughter while taking a sip of their best drink and bathe themselves in their gold. The Gods could only watch the carnage and celebrate for every soul that they claimed. Everyone, every single one of them took a victory lap with each city that was brought down.

This was a single figure. And the closer it got, the more alarmed he turned.

With his breathing pace quickened, he brought the rifle's magnifying sights to his right eye. Aiming down his weapon, he got the moving red object to be placed before of the barrel of the weapon. But as the object drew into his sights, and as the image of became clearer and clearer. The soldier's eyes grew wide in realization that hit him like a truck. His hands trembled, his already quickened and erratic breathing fastened themselves to a state of hyperventilating. He was prepared for the object to actually be a humanoid thing, but he wasn't prepared for the image of a well-known figure just walking around in the rain.

It was a female.

Her sickly, pale white, nearly phantom-like skin really stood out from the rest. She was just about as pale as him, but somehow, she looked healthy. Her narrow, crimson eyes could be seen as plain as day, as it was a major contrast from her albino skin. Her absurdly long, dark violet hair that was tied up into a set of pigtails was damp and limp due to the soaking rain. Her clothes, much to his surprise, was a bit... revealing, said attire only consisted of some revealing tops and a pair of shorts, although most of them were covered with her long, crimson cloak that had some golden trimmings that symbolized royalty. That cloak was the thing that caught his attention all the way from the tower. But from that shortened distance, he could also see chains. Chains were locking her arms and legs into place, although they did not restrict her movements whatsoever.

Her weapon was visible on her hands. It was a gigantic scythe with dark colored blade. A gradient of pure black and dark violet crossed each side of the blade of the scythe. The size of the weapon itself was humongous, the blade's size was doubling, nearly tripling her own size, The length of the scythe itself was even taller than her short stature. The look on her face signified her calm state, even though the rain was surely draining her. She waltzed through all of the trenches, the machine gun nests and all of the emplaced artillery-guns.

He recognized her.

She was there.

Elizabeth Nikolay Vtorykh there.

The traitor princess was there.

Princess Elza was there.

* * *

><p><strong>ALONE: Another Life On aN Endless night<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>NIGHT FIVE<strong>

**TIME: 10:37 PM**


	4. Night Five 10:45 PM

**NIGHT FIVE**

**TIME: 10:38:01 PM**

* * *

><p>He kept his weapon aimed towards the Princess who'd <em>somehow<em> got herself the epithet of Inferno by the public. A part of him didn't trust her. She was a traitor, after all. He'd heard that the news about her, killing her other sisters. Of course, the Emperor as well as the public didn't take too kindly of her doings, and imprisoned her. She was never seen again ever since. But she was there, although still chained, she looked perfectly alive and well. The girl was even wielding a weapon. And now, an almost infinite numbers of questions crossed through his brain at once.

Why was she there?

Did she break out of prison, somehow?

A traitor on the loose?

A sudden sense of duty and honor to serve his country flew into his brain, giving automatic signals to his spinal cord, which then told him to believe that the princess was hostile. She'd conducted heresy against her own country. She was nothing more than a Xeno for him and the rest from that point on. She's a fugitive, and just by seeing her gigantic scythe, she's a dangerous one. A glint of anger made his grip on the rifle tightened slightly.

Gulping a rather large amount of air to stabilize his aim, the crosshairs of his magnifying scope fell upon her head. One bullet, just one bullet could end her right there and that's it. One less trouble for him besides the Gods. Narrowing his aiming eye for one last self-confirmation to kill her, his index finger moved to the trigger. It then began to move slowly to tap the trigger in. He got himself a clear shot. Princess or not, royalty or not, she's a hostile being.

She had to go down.

...Or did she?

Pausing his finger's movement in hesitation, he grunted to himself.

Why couldn't he pull the trigger?

He jerked his body as his hands and shoulders twitched. His forehead began to launch several beads of cold sweat to roll down his face, and they were certainly not helping the situation. The already, cold, maybe even freezing storm was making him near hypothermic. His nerves were getting killed, one by one. And by the Gods, it felt painful. It really felt painful. His quavering hands and blurring vision were only making it even worse for him. Out of all the nights that exhaustion could finally claim its prey, it had to be that night.

But nevertheless, he forced his body to stay true to his posture. He was one of the best.

And at least he could just put the heretic down before finally subduing to his knees to the tiredness he'd been feeling for at least a month.

Once again, his fingers slid into the trigger of his rifle, and his crosshairs fell upon the Second princess of the Bariuran Federation's loyalty. He'd pledged his loyalty, he'd pledged his life. He'd pledged his everything for the name of the Emperor and the Federation. His will was iron strong. Cursing fate for toying with him and his sense of allegiance, he kicked himself mentally to straighten himself. It was not the time to ponder about himself. It was the time for the traitor of the Empire to die.

But, for some reason, he paused yet again before his index finger pressed against the trigger. Something was telling him not to kill her. But what? His feelings were a bit off. He kept his sights trained against the calm, nearly emotionless crimson eyes of hers, but he couldn't bring himself to shoot her. Instead, he just kept staring at her stoic face. The girl looked like she didn't mind the storm whatsoever. She kept walking, passing the trenches and the Rozsocháčs and chevaux de frises with each and every passing second.

What was stopping him? Pity?

No, it couldn't be.

He was a trained marksman. He'd never miss. He didn't even mind taking other's lives from them. Countless of angels and demons alike have fallen under his rifle. He never felt anything for them. Only disgust, for they were his enemies. They were Bariura's enemies. But what's making her, a heretic, so different from them? She killed the sisters of the royal family, that was something that one could not repay even with his or her life. She was no different from them. Why, just why did he have to hesitate?

But wait.

Turning his mind away from the girl for once, his thoughts wandered back to the radio and the S.O.S. signal that he'd been repeating for the last three days. Although the chances are very unlikely, she could be his rescue. No one would come there without a purpose, especially a scythe-wielding princess from the royals. He knew that almost everyone of the sisters were trained to wield a weapon, and most of them were even stronger than a fully-grown man. Just one of them could take an entire platoon of highly-trained soldiers.

She had a purpose. Somehow, that was his mind kept telling him.

Relenting himself, he then contemplated to the idea of getting her into the fort.

No.

One mouth to feed was already bad enough. Let alone two.

But that was just from his own standpoint. But what about hers? Or the others? She could be indeed his rescue, and the sooner she'd locate that he's a survivor, the sooner he'd get the hell out of there. Besides, she looked perfectly healthy and fine. What is it to let her without food for a few days? He hadn't eaten since... he'd lost count about how many days'd passed without anything entering his stomach anyway. For water problems, the storm should provide more than enough water for the both of them for a few days. Despite her dangerous-looking weapon, she also seemed to be pretty passive. So he'd assumed that she's not hostile. At least, for now. What did he have to lose?

Groaning once, and hoping that by taking this chance he'd be out from the bedrock, he slung his rifle back to his shoulder and motioned himself to turn on the guard tower's torchlight to signal her. Powering up the light, there was a slight pause before the lamp shot out the beam that sliced through the thunderous clouds. He wasted no time to direct the spot light to where the princess was standing. The beam of light quickly glided back to the ground and landed upon the girl.

The light must've taken her off by surprise, seeing her shocked reaction when the light reached her face. The princess covered her crimson eyes with her left hand, before slowly lowering them down to see who's shooting the light at her. He immediately waved his hands in the air to get her to notice him. Elizabeth merely responded to his wave by fully lowering her arms and returning to her stoic composure. But the look alone told him everything. She knew that he's there.

He then guided the light to highlight the main gate of the fortress for her. The princess looked to the gate and back up to him, before walking off to entrance, still with her slow walking tempo.

Taking that as his cue, he left his position from the watch to open the gates for her. He would need to be prepared.

And it was about time that he get his answers, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>ALONE: Another Life On aN Endless night<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>NIGHT FIVE<strong>

**TIME: 10:45 PM**


End file.
